


If you were a church (I'd get on my knees)

by Apuzzlingprince



Series: IT Fanfics [14]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Religious, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Parents Zack & Sharon Denbrough, Blasphemy, Camping, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Religious Content, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-23 19:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16165190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: Truth be told, Richie was a nuisance. Not a deliberate one, mind you. He was a nuisance not because of his personality, nor because he would speak during sermons, but because he hindered Bill’s ability to give himself wholly to God. You see, Bill was really, really fucking attracted to Richie Tozier.The Denbrough's take refuge in religion following Georgie's death. Richie seems to determined to make Bill a blasphemer.





	If you were a church (I'd get on my knees)

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the second Bichie fic I mentioned! It's very self-indulgent since I love myself some blasphemy! Enjoy.

Following Georgie’s disappearance, Bill’s parents took refuge in religion. Not that they hadn’t been religious prior to Georgie’s abrupt departure from their lives, having subjected Bill to Sunday school and early morning sermons since he was a toddler, but the stake they now placed in religion was unprecedented. The Denbrough household underwent a dramatic change over the last dredges of winter; crosses were hung on walls, bibles filled all available book space, Christian trinkets were scattered throughout the house, and quotes from the Good Book were displayed in the form of fridge magnets, embroidery art, posters, and even on mugs. Somehow none of this was enough to drive away the cold that had enveloped the Denbrough house, but Bill took consolation in the fact his parents had found some means of coping with their loss.

Bill tried to be a good, dutiful son and make religion just as much a part of his life as it was his parents, even if he didn’t have the same level of conviction as them. He attended church with a new vigour. He signed up for the study group. He read different versions of the bible and took notes within their margins. He prayed every night before bed (privately begging God to give him his brother back, though by the age of fifteen, he started to realise how futile this was). In his desperation and juvenility, he thought he would be able to win his parents’ affection back if he showed them just how devoted to them and their God that he was.

His efforts never did work.

His parents remained cold and distant and Bill fell even deeper into the clutches of religion as a consequence, clinging to it as a crutch. Even if his parents weren’t there, the bible reassured Bill that God was, and no matter how alone he felt sometimes, no matter how isolated from his peers (who could never understand what he was going through), God would _always_ be there to watch over him.

The town eventually came to know him as the ‘Christian boy’, just as much as Stan was the ‘Jew boy’. He didn’t mind that. It was a damn sight better than being known as ‘Stuttering Bill’, especially as he had wrested control over his stutter over several long, hard years and he liked to have that recognised. The nickname no longer made sense. Nor did the nickname ‘Big Bill’, for that matter, but his friends had ceased calling him that around tenth grade, when it had become apparent he wouldn’t be growing beyond the height of five foot seven.

Some of his friends stopped attending church as they got older, while others, such as Richie, continued to attend simply to keep Bill company. Bill had told him that he didn’t need to, that if Richie didn’t find any solace in religion, there was no point in him dragging himself out of bed for the morning sermons. But Richie was insistent. He knocked on Bill’s door every Sunday morning to drive or otherwise escort him to church, and frankly, even if Bill thought it silly that Richie went to church simply to keep him company, Bill was glad for it. Sermons always went much quicker with Richie at his side.

Nowadays Richie drove them to church in a Mercedes-Benz, a gift Richie had received from his parents on his sixteenth birthday. Bill had his own car, but he had only recently managed to gather the funds for it and so he was still on his learners. He couldn’t have driven himself to church even if he’d wanted to, and he certainly wasn’t going to catch a ride with his parents. He couldn’t stand the silence whenever they had to share a car.

Truth be told, Richie was a nuisance. Not a deliberate one, mind you. He was a nuisance not because of his personality, nor because he would speak during sermons, but because he hindered Bill’s ability to give himself wholly to God. You see, Bill was really, really fucking attracted to Richie Tozier.

The bible didn’t say anything specific about homosexuality. There was Leviticus 18:22, sure, but that was different in all bibles Bill had ever owned and no one could come to a consensus on what exactly it meant (particularly those who were both queer and Christian). You had to want to interpret lines in the bible as homophobic for them to be homophobic, and unfortunately, that was what the bulk of the Christian community did. It was strongly held belief that homosexuality was one of the direst sins one could commit. He would be ostracised by the church if anyone were to find out about his homosexual tendencies. But, God forgive him, everything about Richie made this sin a particularly compelling one; his wild black hair, his warm brown eyes, his toothy smiles and his freckled skin, and above all else, Bill loved Richie's sense of humour and sunny disposition. He was the spark of light in Bill’s life that Bill so desperately needed after Georgie’s passing. It was impossible to be morose while in the company of Richie Tozier.

He did try to stifle these thoughts. For the sake of God and their friendship, he really did try. He just… didn’t get far with his attempts, and perhaps gave in a little easier than he should have. Quite shamefully, he had started touching himself to thoughts of Richie. He favoured a fantasy of Richie propositioning him while they were in his Mercedes-Benz and fucking Bill into the leather. He imagined it rather like that scene in Titanic, seeing as he hadn’t any actual porn to reference. He might have been a sinner, but he was still a Christian and thus didn’t partake in porn magazines, which Bill considered much worse than the simple pleasure of ones thoughts.

This fantasy had caused some inconvenience over the past two years as Bill would periodically pop a boner while they were in Richie’s car together. All Richie had to do was look at him in the right way and extend him a lingering touch and Bill would spend the rest of the car ride with his bag in his lap, hiding his tented trousers from view. If he could get away with it, he usually hurried to the Church bathroom to masturbate, ridding himself of the evidence of Richie’s voluptuousness. If not, he had to spend the entire sermon with his bag in his lap. It was quite embarrassing since they had to stand periodically and Bill had to let the bag hang over his crotch. He couldn’t be sure no one had figured out why he was doing it.

Richie didn’t seem to notice his growing interest. He was too busy chasing after girls, just like he had always said he would in their youth. He was widely considered by the students of Derry High to be a ‘good lay’. This only made Bill more attracted to him, especially since Richie had made a chastity vow along with Bill just a year prior and seemed completely unashamed about disregarding it. There was just something _hot_ about that.

It was mid-November, almost four months into their senior year of high school, that his preconceptions about Richie’s sexuality were dashed.

The mornings sermon consisted of a lecture about abandoning earthly goods. They’d had this lecture numerous times before, delivered in the exact same tenor of voice and utilising the same words, but the Pastor – elderly man that he was – didn’t seem to remember this. It didn’t bother the church-goers, who listened to him speak with rapt attention anyway.

Bill was only half-listening, distracted by the way Richie’s thigh periodically rubbed against his own. It wasn’t deliberate, he was sure, but his face was flushing anyway and he had to fiddle with his nokia to distract himself from the warmth radiating through Richie’s trousers. Richie was always very warm. He could have functioned as a perfectly serviceable portable heater. Since they were moving steadily into winter, Bill would have very much liked to indulge in Richie’s heat, but that would have required him to be forthright about his desires, and he wasn’t about to do that anytime soon.

The pastor was saying something about giving up money when Bill’s phone vibrated. He jumped in place, glancing about him to make sure no one had noticed the disturbance. Once he had confirmed that there were no judgemental looks being cast his way, he brought the screen into view, reading the text as discreetly as possible.

**Trashmouth –  
getting a stiffie just sitting next to me huh denbrough?**

Bill’s heart skipped a beat. He stared at his phone screen for a long time, jostled out of his reverie only when Richie leaned against him, their arms brushing. He shoved his phone out of view, looking tentatively up at Richie. He was met with a grin. A grin that said ‘I know what I sent; I know how you feel, and I’m going to do something about it’. What exactly Richie intended to do wasn’t clear at this period and his insides squirmed with the various possibilities.

He saw Richie’s fingers working in his pocket. Sending another text message, no doubt. Bill’s eyes dropped back to the phone screen, and a moment later another scrawl of text popped up.

**Trashmouth –  
i bet you’d love it if I got you off in these pews. if i just gave you a hand job while everyone was distracted**

Bill’s lungs emptied themselves in one long breath. The though of Richie doing that, just reaching into his trousers and grasping his cock while everyone was too enamoured with the pastor’s sermon to notice, was so appealing that he had to cross his legs.

He returned the phone to his pocket with a shaking hand. He wouldn’t look again no matter what Richie sent him. If he got anymore aroused, he was going to need to excuse himself to the bathroom.

His phone continued to buzz and Bill squirmed on the pew every single time. Richie, for his part, looked absolutely delighted with the response he was getting. Richie gave his top lip a slow, dragging lick and Bill swallowed reflexively, turning his burning face toward his knees. The pastors voice was drifting further and further away with every text message he received, and he thought, symbolically, this was him drifting further and further away from God.

* * *

The morning bible study session proved a tense affair with Richie casting him knowing looks throughout the lesson. When it came time to leave, Bill hurried outside and crossed the church parking lot, forgoing a ride back home in favour of heading to Derry’s shopping district. He needed to find Beverly. Beverly _always_ knew what to do in situations like these. She had more emotional maturity than any other Loser (except perhaps Mike, but Mike would be at football practice at this time of day).

His thoughts raced as he thumped his way down the sidewalk. He didn’t dare look at the other messages Richie had sent. He couldn’t let himself, or he might end up saying something stupid back, like ‘I want you to fuck me’ or ‘I need you to leave me alone so God won’t be angry’. Either one would end badly and he had no idea which response he would ultimately go for. On one hand, Richie _exuded_ sex and he had dreamt of exactly this for the longest time; on the other hand, sleeping with Richie would be condemning himself to hell, according to popular opinion.

He had managed to get rid of his arousal by the time he arrived at Beverly’s workplace, which thankfully meant he didn’t have to cover his crotch with his bag as he approached the counter. As Beverly worked at a shoe store, the place was always relatively empty at this time of day. Customers didn’t start arriving until at least ten.

“Hello and welcome to- oh! Bill!” Beverly greeted him with a broad smile. It fell away the moment she registered his anxious expression. “Are you alright? You look pale.”

“I’m…” Bill swiped a hand through his neatly combed hair, full of nervous energy. “I could be b-better, that’s for sure.”

“You’re stammering,” said Beverly with clear concern.

“Yeah.” Bill passed the counter to join Beverly by the shelves, picking up one of the numerous boxes she had sitting at her side. He might as well help her shelve shoes since he was there. “I had a, um… interesting morning, to say the l-least.”

“Interesting?” Beverly arched an eyebrow. “Do you mean ‘terrible’?”

“The opposite, actually,” he said, his voice dropping in volume at this confession. He pushed a pair of loafers onto the shelf.

“Come on, Bill,” Beverly encouraged. “Spit it out.”

“Richie, he, uh…” he spoke slowly, halting. “He flirted with me at church.”

“At church?” Beverly rolled her eyes. “Of course he did, the idiot. He wouldn’t know how to keep it in his pants if someone made him a goddamn chastity belt.” Beverly grabbed a pair of sneakers and shoved them into the appropriate place.

Bill blinked at her. “You’re not surprised?”

“Why would I be?” said Beverly. “He’s had a thing for you since he was eleven. It was only a matter of time.”

“Since we were-“ Well, _this_ was news to Bill. “ _Really_?”

“Really.” Beverly offered him a small smile. “And you’ve had a thing for him since, hm… thirteen?”

Bill balked at her. “How do you _know_ these things?”

“Because I’m a girl,” said Beverly simply. “And we’re the superior gender.”

With what Bill knew of girls, he was inclined to agree. “So, what do I do?” He ran his palms down his face, pressing a deep, weary sigh into them. “I l-like him so much, Bev.”

Beverly shrugged a shoulder. “If you like him, then flirt back. Test the waters.” She shoved another box onto the shelf. “Just don’t go rushing in, alright? Because you’ve had a long time to form expectations and you don’t want to end up disappointing yourself if he doesn’t live up to them.”

“That’s not really what I’m worried about.” Bill curled his hands over his knees. “It’s a-against the rules. With the church, I mean. And God. God and the church.”

“So?” Beverly laughed. “Premarital sex is frowned upon too, but that hasn’t stopped me and Ben.”

“Oh, gross, don’t tell me that!” Bill cried. Beverly was like a _sister_ to him (an older one, though he wouldn’t admit it) and had been for several years now. He didn’t want to imagine her being sexually active.

“You came here to talk about Richie making passes at you,” said Beverly wryly. “I think I deserve at least one comment.”

“Oh, right.” Bill cast her a sheepish look. “Still, that- that doesn’t really help me. I can’t just do whatever I want.”

“Why not? I do.”

“Yeah, but…” Bill sighed and slumped back. “I don’t know, Bev. I’m at a total loss.”

“Like I said.” Beverly turned to face him, drawing him closer the lapels of his jacket. He always wore his nice black one to church. “Flirt back, Bill. Just do it. Give it a try. If you don’t like it or you decide following your religion is more important, then you can just stop. Easy.”

“I’m not sure it’s as easy as you make it sound,” muttered Bill, but he resolved to do as she instructed anyway. A few text messages couldn’t hurt, right? And it would be way easier (and less shameful, since it would be with Richie’s blessing) to masturbate to thoughts of Richie if he had a few dirty messages to help him along. He could imagine Richie murmuring them in his ear… god, he was working himself up just thinking about it.

“You’d better hurry up and decide what you want to do,” said Beverly, shoving the last box into place and standing. The doorbell jingled as a customer made their entrance. “You’ll make Richie insecure if you don’t reply soon. He’ll stop if he thinks you aren’t interested.”

That prompted Bill to jump to his feet, taking long strides toward the exit. He had _run_ out of bible study. Richie had no doubt interpreted that as a rejection, and he needed to reply before that assumption wrought any irrevocable damage.

"Thanks Bev," he shouted over his shoulder, just before turning out of sight.

He went to the underground clubhouse he and the other Losers had built as ninth graders instead of going home. It was dirty inside, overrun with weeds that peeked in through the hatch, but it was habitable enough for Bill’s purposes. There were no spiders in there, at least. He’d gotten rid of them last he’d utilised the place.

He dropped inside and crawled into a corner, seating himself on one of the seven bean bags the Losers had brought as furnishings. They were still perfectly functional despite being a little worn and dirt-smudged. He turned on the light, retrieved his phone from his pocket, and read Richie’s most recent messages.

**Trashmouth –  
would you cry out my name or gods if we had sex?**

**Trashmouth –  
i’d love to hear my name on yours lips ;) i bet it’d be a rapturous experience**

**Trashmouth –  
speaking of which, i can give you a rapturous experience**

**Trashmouth –  
bill, you kinda just ran out there. c’mon man i promise i’ll be gentle**

**Trashmouth –  
bill?**

**Trashmouth –  
BILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!**

Bill had to laugh at that last message. It came across as more whiny than panicked.

He hastily typed his own reply.

**Bill Denbrough –  
I hear you Tozier.**

**Bill Denbrough –  
I don’t think I was the only one enjoying themselves in church today. ;)**

Bill had little to no experience with flirting, and it showed. He would have to take cues from Richie and hope for the best.

**Trashmouth –  
about time denbrough, i was about to condemn myself to a cold shower**

**Trashmouth –  
now that you’re here, gimme some material to get myself off too**

**Trashmouth –  
tell me what you want me to do to you**

After a moment’s hesitation, Bill slowly typed out a reply, his face turning a brilliant red. His cock was already starting to fill out his trousers again.

**Bill Denbrough –  
So many things, Richie. You don’t even know.**

He hit send.

* * *

Their flirting continued throughout the weekend. Bill masturbated so many times to the filthy things Richie sent him that he ended up going through an entire box of tissues. He’d heard somewhere that excessive masturbating could render you blind, but that was a risk he was willing to take.

The flirting only came to a stop when school resumed, at which point they were too busy scrambling to complete projects and prepare for tests to luxuriate in dirty talk. They were both aiming to get into university on a scholarship and they would need to impress with their grades and study ethic if that was to happen. On top of that, both he and Richie had several clubs after school, which left them with little time to hang out.

It was only during lunch that they really got to sit down and enjoy each other’s company. All the Losers had a lunch permit. They had arranged to have one at the beginning of the year so they could leave the school and eat at a nearby McDonald’s. Prior to that, they had snuck their way out of the school grounds and into Stan’s house, where they would make themselves Nutella sandwiches and watch television until it was time to return to class.

They all chipped in for two family meal deals and seated themselves in a quiet corner. Beverly and Ben discussed where what they would spend next break doing, while Eddie, Stan, and Mike discussed recent football scores. He and Richie, meanwhile, exchanged sly, knowing looks and murmured among themselves about the weekend, sprinkling a hint to the text messages here and there.

“We should drive somewhere on Friday,” Richie announced, leaning his chin on a hand and grinning. “Go camping or something. It’s been ages since I’ve camped.”

“You want to camp in this weather?” asked Bill, bewildered.

“If we take my dad’s winnebago, we won’t have to worry about that.”

“Then it wouldn’t really be camping.”

“Come on, Bill,” said Richie, letting his bottom lip slot out in a pout. “It’ll be fun! We can go fishing and hunt bears!”

Bill snorted. “You’d piss your pants if you so much as saw a bear.”

“Yeah, but… how did Indians or whatever hunt those fuckers, anyway? Shit. I mean, we have guns, and they had…”

“Spears,” provided Bill.

“Yeah, fucking _sticks_.” Richie shook his head, as though in sympathy. “Poor bastards.”

“I hear bears can slap your head right off your body with a paw,” said Bill, making a face. “Bet that was an epidemic in bear hunting. So many heads just lopped right off.”

“And that’s where the idea for the guillotine came from,” said Richie. He spoke with a surprising amount of conviction considering that was complete bullshit. “Anyway, camping.” Richie shoved a handful of chips into his mouth, chewing noisily as he spoke. “You in, Bill?”

“I dunno.” He had a lot of studying to do, as well as church obligations. The Sunday school teacher was relying on him to arrange some activities for the younger students and he always cleaned the church on the weekend. “I don’t think I can make it.” He worried his fingers through his hair, as had become habit for him over the past few years. “I have so much to do.”

“Aw, you can’t make time for your bestie.” Richie continued to pout, reaching across the table. “For shame, Denbrough! For shame-!”

Richie’s fingers on his bare skin was like a jolt of electricity. Bill jumped so high that his knees struck the underside of the table. All the Losers fell silent, their attention turning on him, and he was suddenly so very sure they all knew, they all knew what he and Richie had been up to over the weekend and they didn’t approve because they were Christians too, and a good Christian wouldn’t support homosexuality-

Bill stood out of his seat, excusing himself. He stepped into the bathroom and ran a cold stream of water, shoving his hands under it to receive a revitalising chill.

He needed to get a grip. Even if his friends _did_ know about him and Richie, they were open-minded people. Decent people. They wouldn’t shun him based on his sexuality. Even Eddie, with his fear of AIDS, wouldn’t reject him based on something so petty. If anything, they would be happy for him, just like Beverly was. He was ashamed that he’d even humoured the thought that his friends would ever abandon him. He knew them better than that. It was his own damn insecurity, the fear he was doing something wrong that was twisting his thoughts. It was making him paranoid about things he had no reason to be paranoid about. But how did one just shrug off a lifetime of Christian teachings? He’d known since he was a toddler that homosexuality was wrong. His parents had impressed that on him and it was a hard mindset to shake.

He turned off the tap and dried his hands. Richie was waiting for him at the door when he emerged.

“Hey, man,” said Richie, looking guiltily at his shoes. “Sorry for pressing so hard. Are you mad?"

"No," said Bill, offering him a reassuring smile. "It's okay, Richie. I just... it's been a long week."

Richie shifted from foot to foot. "We don’t have to go camping _this_ weekend. We could go…” He flapped his hands. “Next week, or next month, or next year. Whenever. Or maybe never, if that’s what you want.”

Bill got the impression ‘camping’ was an euphemism for something else. “I want to go camping,” he told Richie, guiding him by the arm back to their table. “I really do. I’m just busy, that’s all. We’ll talk about it some other time.”

“Sure,” said Richie, visibly deflating. It was clear he didn't believe this 'later' would ever come. “Later's fine. I can do later.” He dropped back into his seat, leaning his chin on his folded arms. “If you’re not too busy tonight, do you want to, er… is it okay if we chat?”

Bill knew what Richie meant by ‘chat’. He hesitated for a few moments before nodding. As shameful as it was, now that he’d had a taste of Richie Tozier, he didn’t want to relinquish him. Not even at the demand of his religion. It would take God himself making an appearance to persuade him to stop… and even then, it’d take some convincing.

Evidently the pastors ‘surrender your earthy pleasures’ speech hadn’t had much of an effect on Bill. Then again, as most attending church never relinquished more than a few dollars for church donations, he doubted it had worked on much of anyone. No one _really_ wanted to give away their earthy pleasures. They just nodded along to the pastors demands to feign dedication to the Lord.

Bill managed to shove down a burger and some chips before they were due back at school. He bid all but Ben farewell and the two of them headed to art class.

* * *

It took Bill three weeks to finally take Richie up on his offer to go camping. Winter was fast approaching and Bill knew Richie would have to rescind the offer if Bill left it too long. He didn’t want to miss the opportunity. As anxious as he got around Richie these days, courtesy of the intimate conversations they had via text, he was desperate to leave Derry and experience the world beyond it.

He packed a bag full of the appropriate gear, informed the pastor that he would not be able to attend nor clean the church that weekend, and the two of them left in the Tozier’s Winnebago to go camping in some distant woods.

To reach their destination, they had to drive three hours. They spent those three hours chatting idly and listening to tunes. Richie, Bill noted, was taking care not to be his affectionate self. He hadn’t touched Bill without his explicit permission since the incident in the McDonald's. Bill didn’t much enjoy this new development, having always taken pleasure in Richie’s affection, but he didn’t know how to go about asking that he resume touching Bill again. It would be hard to phrase that request without it sounding like a proposition, and part of him rather liked the idea of Richie taking it as permission to kiss him, or grope him, or…

Bill banished those thoughts from mind. If he thought too much about the way Richie could touch him, he was going to end up popping a boner and making the weekend awkward. It was bad enough that he could barely meet Richie’s eyes after the filth they had exchanged over the past few weeks. Richie had described to him two sexual acts called ‘rimming’ and ‘frottage’ and while Bill’d had a hard time imagining how they were to be enacted, he’d spent an entire week describing how badly he wanted Richie to do both of them to him. Especially the rimming, even if it seemed a little dirty. He liked the way it sounded. He’d had to pray a _lot_ to make up for the utter filth he had been sending Richie recently.

He managed to keep his mind mostly blank until they reached their camping spot, at which point he found himself too busy marvelling at the beautiful, lush forest opening that Richie had selected as their destination to think about sex. He hopped out the passenger seat and walked in a slow circle around the Winnebago, taking in the vast, seemingly endless crescent of pine trees, the roar of a distant stream, and the sight of birds flicking through the air. The sky was a brilliant blue, brighter than the sky hanging over Derry, and the sun shone warm over him despite the winter chill that had crept over the countryside.

He hadn’t gone camping since he was ten. He’d forgotten just how beautiful the camping spots could be.

Richie was quick to join him in admiring their surroundings.

“I thought you might like it here,” he said, casting Bill a side-long grin. “Me and my parents come here every other year. It’s got a great fishing spot and there’s a trail that leads right up a mountain. Not a very high mountain, so we wouldn’t end up freezing or anything.”

“It’s…” Bill acted on pure instinct. He twisted a hand into Richie’s shirt collar, drew him down, and kissed his cheek. He almost went for his mouth- that would have been catastrophic.

His lips left a hint on saliva on Richie’s skin and Richie made no attempt to wipe it away, staring hard at Bill while Bill turned back to the forest.

“Well, um,” said Richie after a long silence. “How about I show you the river? It’s really beautiful."

“Sure,” said Bill, offering him a wavering smile. He was having some rather ungodly thoughts right now.

The two of them retrieved a bag of supplies from the Winnebago and headed into the forest. Bill chewed on a ration bar as they walked, peckish from the length of the road trip, while Richie ate some jolly ranchers. Not the healthiest of snacks, perhaps, but Richie seemed happy enough with his choice.

They crunched their way over forest detritus and climbed tree roots until they reached the edge of a river, which Richie gestured to with flourish.

“It’s pretty, huh?” Richie appeared to have forgotten his self-imposed rule of maintaining distance, his hand wrapping around Bill’s wrist to pull him closer to the water. “If you squint, you can see fish under the surface.”

Bill did as Richie suggested and squinted. He saw some vague, flittering shapes darting around rocks and algae, but little else. One would think having twenty-twenty vision would mean he would find it easier to spot fish, but Richie was the one who ended up pointing them out, grinning from ear to ear with each new discovery. He had the sort of enthusiasm and awe usually reserved for children. That was something Bill liked about Richie; he always found it so easy to get in touch with his childish side. Having spent a bulk of his formative years mourning Georgie, Bill always found that difficult, but it came easier around Richie.

Once the fish had exhausted their interest, Richie guided Bill down the edge of the river so he could show him the lake it opened up to. If it got warm enough, he told Bill, they might try swimming. Bill doubted they would. He suspected they would end up with pneumonia if they tried (thought this might have just been Eddie’s hypochondria rubbing off on him).

The lake was just as beautiful as Bill had expected. A vivid field of blue that stretched on into the horizon, surrounded on all sides by pine trees. The undulating waters gleamed beneath the evening sun. Ducks glided along its surface, followed by their young. Birds dropped from the sky periodically to take a drink mid-flight. On the opposite side of the lake was a towering mountain, topped with trees rather than snow, and Bill thought it really completed the picture. Gave the place a picturesque look.

“Really wish I’d brought a camera,” he said, seating himself in a soft patch of grass.

Richie joined him in sitting and admiring the lake. “Fortunately for you,” he said, digging into his supply bag. “I thought ahead.” He unveiled a bulky-looking digital camera, one of the few currently on the market.

“That’s a first,” said Bill wryly, prompting both of them to burst into giggles. Richie handed him the camera. He turned it over in his hands, lost as to how it was supposed to function. They were only now starting to be introduced to computers in school and Bill didn’t much know how to work those, either.

“Here, let me help,” said Richie, positioning himself behind Bill and slotting his fingers over Bill’s. He manoeuvred Bill’s hands until Bill was cradling the camera, then directed Bill into pressing down on a button with his pointer.

The camera flashed and clicked. Unlike the instant polaroid’s Bill was so accustomed to, this camera didn’t produce instantaneous film. They were going to need to use the dark room at school- or, no. It was a _digital_ camera. That wasn’t how digital cameras worked. How did you get the film off a digital camera?

“This is this year’s birthday present,” Richie explained as he turned Bill’s hands and snapped yet another photo, this time of some passing ducks. His palms were warm and sweaty. “I got it early since I begged and pleaded. Told mom n’ dad I wanted to be a photographer. I lost interest in that pretty fast, though, but having a camera is awesome anyway. Now I can document all the dumb shit you guys get up to when drunk!”

“You already missed Ben throwing up on a dog,” said Bill with a snicker, leaning into Richie’s shoulder. Richie made for a comfortable seat. “I don’t think we’ll ever have something that funny happen again.”

“You’d think he’d be less of a lightweight with those muscles.” Richie clucked his tongue. “Can’t even drink two cups of jack ‘n coke without ending up a mess.”

“Neither can you,” said Bill, his hands turning slack beneath Richie’s. He’d never noticed just how easily Richie’s hands encompassed his own. He liked that.

“Don’t call me out like this, Denbrough,” said Richie, pouting against the crown of his head. “Or I’ll push you into the lake. Then you’ll be sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you’d be once I dragged myself out.”

“Mm… good point.” Richie gently dislodged Bill’s grip on the camera and turned the lens on their faces. “Smile, Bill!”

“Oh, er-“ He offered a quick, toothy smile and recoiled at the flash of the camera, involuntarily drawing himself into Richie’s lap.

“Whoops,” said Richie apologetically. He twisted a knob on the side of the camera. “I should lower the flash. Ready for another one?”

“Go ahead,” said Bill, laughing, and he didn’t need to be instructed to smile this time.

Richie took two more photos before lowering the camera. Bill would have to request to keep one of them. He had a pin board featuring photos of his friends at home and one of these would make a great centrepiece.

Richie returned the camera to his bag. While he was doing so, Bill began to wind down, to relax, and upon slumping into Richie's chest he realised that his ass was positioned directly over Richie’s crotch. This knowledge choked him of the ability to speak. He twisted his fingers in his lap, willing himself to remain calm. This was fine, he told himself. They were just sitting together as friends. This wasn’t going to go anywhere. It didn’t mean anything.

He wouldn’t have minded _had_ it meant something, mind you. He would have moved by now had he truly been opposed to the idea.

He raised a hand to the little gold cross sitting on his sternum. It was skin-warm. He felt its sharp ridges, traced them with the pads of his fingers, and he found the self-control he’d been looking for.

He was going to need to do a lot of praying before bed tonight.

“Let’s head back to camp," said Bill. He extracted himself from Richie’s lap and extended Richie a hand. "We'll have a few beers. I bought the good kind.”

“How’d you get your hands on it?” asked Richie, accepting the proffered hand and allowing himself to be pulled upright.

“One of the guys at the store doesn’t really check your ID. He just glances at it to make it seem like he does.” Bill brushed dirt and grass off the ass of his trousers as they walked. “I just walked in there, grabbed what I wanted, and that was it. As long as Jeremy’s out front, it’s real easy.”

“Ohh, Billy, I didn’t know you were such a delinquent!” Richie grinned at him. “That’s not very Christian of you!”

“Hey, there’s nothing in the bible that says I can’t drink,” Bill retorted. “Actually, Ecclesiastes 9:7 says God approves of me getting drunk off my ass. I bet God wants me to drink that beer.”

“God _does_ have mysterious ways,” said Richie.

Back at camp, Richie went looking for the beer and a couple of fold-out chairs while Bill gathered rocks and sticks to build a fire. They would drink beer, make s’mores and stew, and reminisce. That was what camping was for.

He had managed to get a small fire going by the time Richie finished lugging the portable cooler out of the Winnebago. Richie retrieved a can of beer from the ice and tossed it to Bill, who caught it out of the air. He popped the tab and took a sip. He wasn’t usually a fan of bitter drinks, but one couldn’t go wrong with Solsun beer.

He threw two logs onto the fire before dropping into one of the chairs Richie had set out. Richie retrieved his own beer, sipping on it while he set up a rack over the fire.

“Hope you’re in the mood for chicken stew,” said Richie, giving the rack a testing push. It didn’t budge. “Because I’ve got a _ton_ in the mini-fridge. My mom went a little overboard.”

“How much are we talking?” asked Bill.

“Hang on, let me just…” Richie returned to the Winnebago, emerging a moment later with a pot so full of meat and vegetables that it could have fed a family of four for days. Richie attached it to the rack with a sigh. “I love my mom, but I don’t think she knows the word ‘moderation’.”

“How long’s that going to take to cook?”

“I dunno. A week?” Richie sat down in his own chair, lounging with his legs stretched out and his arms hanging over the arm rests. “Nah, it’ll just be an hour or so. She softened the vegetables and cooked most of the meat.”

Bill sipped his beer. It was strong stuff. He expected he would start to feel the buzz once he finished this can. “Does she think we’d starve without her cooking?”

“Probably,” said Richie, laughing. “Or that’d we just eat chips and chocolate and shit. She hates it when I spend whole days eating junk food. Even if I’m full, she’ll make me eat a salad or something.”

“You spend whole days eating junk food?” Bill wrinkled his nose at Richie. “Gross.”

“And sometimes I sit in my underwear and play Super Nintendo while I do it. Sue me, Denbrough.”

“I will if I ever have to see you stinking up a bedroom in your underwear.”

“Psh.” Richie winked at him. “You would love to see me in my underwear, you dirty little sinner.”

Bill took a good, long swig of his beer to try to pass off the colour in his cheeks as an effect of the alcohol. “You have no right to be calling me dirty anything after admitting you sit around in your tighty whities,” he shot back.

“I’ll have you know I wear black briefs,” said Richie, giving a delicate little sniff. “I look _incredible_. I’m happy to show you some time.”

“Show me?” asked Bill, arching an eyebrow.

Richie scoffed. “Considering you were asking me to eat your ass the other night, you know damn well what I mean. Don’t play innocent, Denbrough.”

“I did not ask you to eat my ass.”

“Do you want me to bring out the text messages?”

Bill pursed his lips. “…No.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Richie. He took a gulp of his beer before continuing. “When’re we going to actually enact any of our exchanges, anyway? We’ve been flirting on and off for a _month_.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I mean, I understand wanting to go slow, but my blue balls are killing me. I’ll be dead before nineteen at this rate.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” Bill ran his thumb over the rim of his can, gazing pensively at the fire. “It’s not like I don’t want to – and don’t make and dumb comments about that, or I’ll throw this can at you. I just… it’s against the rules.”

“What’s Ecclesiastes 3:12-13, Bill?” said Richie.

“Did you memorise that just for this conversation?” asked Bill.

“I did, yes,” said Richie with some pride. “Now, say it. Come on. I didn’t read the bible all the way through for once and take notes for nothing.”

“Once?” Bill shook his head, swallowing the last of his beer and throwing the can back into the cooler. He scratched his hands up into his hair. “I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil—this is God's gift to man.”

“Take pleasure in all his toil,” said Richie, fluttering a hand down his body like he had been given as a gift to Bill from the heavens.

Bill was more amused than annoyed. The beer in his belly helped with that. “Is that your entire argument? Because it’s pretty unimpressive.”

“How about Psalm 37:4?”

“So you memorised more than one.” Bill leaned out of his chair to retrieve another beer. The ice chilled his fingers, so he gave them a rough shake before popping the tab. “Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.” He cast Richie a bemused look. “Are you trying to suggest the desires of my heart is your cock up my ass?”

“Or my mouth on there,” said Richie, waving a finger. “God wants me to eat your ass, Denbrough. Who are we to deny the Lord?”

Bill let out a burst of laughter. “You’re crazy, Tozier.”

“No, you’re crazy.” Richie made another flourishing gesture at himself. “For not wanting this rockin’ bod. I’ve been working on a six pack for months.”

“It doesn’t show.”

“Mean.” Richie finished off the last of his beer in one gulp and threw the can at Bill, who batted it away with another burst of laughter. That 10% of ABV was starting to show. “Now I’m definitely not eating your ass. That’s your loss.”

“We could always do something else…” He took a sip, thinking. “What do you think God would approve of?”

“Anal?” suggested Richie.

Bill glared at him.

“Fine, fine.” Richie grabbed another beer for himself, though he was still on his first one. “How about some making out? I’m pretty sure in some cultures that’s considered a platonic activity.”

Kissing. That couldn’t hurt. He was sure God would permit a little kissing, even if it was between two guys. God did, after all, want him to experience the ‘desires of his heart’, and kissing Richie Tozier was definitely one of them.

Bill swallowed another mouthful of beer. “I can do kissing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me get the s’mores going, in that case,” said Richie, abandoning his chair to retrieve a packet of marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers from his supplies bag. “If I’m gonna kiss you, I’d prefer you taste like chocolate instead of beer. This stuff is fuckin’ _bitter_.”

“It’s ten percent alcohol,” said Bill. “Of course it’s bitter.” He leaned out of his chair to prod at their fire with a stick. The flames licked at the base of the pot. They would have to be careful not to let the contents bubble over.

“Ten? Jesus.” Richie dropped the ingredients for s’mores into Bill’s lap. “I’m gonna have to take these slow.”

Bill made a sound of agreement and tore open his marshmallows, groping around the forest floor for an appropriately sized stick. Richie brought an end to his searching by shoving a small metal rod into his fingers. Bill, with his beer still held to his lips, awkwardly stuck three marshmallows onto the end and hung them over the fire. Within a few more gulps, he was on his third can of Solsun.

Between them, they only managed to eat eight s’mores before Bill abandoned his rod in favour of crawling into Richie’s lap, planting their mouths hard together. Richie was quick to toss both his drink and a half-eaten s’more aside, letting his hands instead drop to Bill’s ass so he could hold the ample flesh there while Bill licked into his mouth.

Bill let his hands rest on Richie’s chest as they kissed slowly and languidly, full of an ease they probably wouldn’t have expressed had both of them not consumed two beers. Richie’s chest was much broader than it seemed from a distance, Bill distantly noted. Maybe he’d been hitting the gym. Or maybe he just had good genes. Richie’s dad certainly looked like he could have provided them. For a dentist, he had some incredibly well-defined biceps.

The little gold cross around his neck became trapped between their bodies, a hard presence against their sternums. It left an indent in their skin, the thin outline of God’s symbol. If either of them noticed this, neither of them cared. They kissed and touched and gyrated, and the only thing they knew in that moment was the others body.

Until the pot lid dislodged itself with a bang, that was. Both of them jumped, and this proved unwise as the cheap metal of the fold-out chair proceeded to bend and spill both of them onto the forest floor. Bill ended up with dirt in his mouth, while Richie ended up with it up his nose. The two of them didn’t much feel like making out after that. They were too busy digging out kernels of dirt to recover their arousal.

This experience was embarrassing enough that they went the rest of the weekend without touching each other. Bill prayed every night to make up for his lustful behaviour and especially for the reoccurring thought of wanting Richie to fuck him into mindless bliss. To his credit, he managed to go a full few hours without thinking about Richie dicking him down on Sunday, though that might have had something to do with those few hours being used to fish.

The moment he was back in the Denbrough household, depositing his camping equipment into a wardrobe, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and flicked it open.

**Trashmouth –  
i have a surprise for you**

**Trashmouth –  
it’s gonna be way more awesome than the camping just you wait**

**Trashmouth –  
i’ll come give it to you next saturday afternoon**

Bill frowned at the message. He sat down on his bed to reply.

**Bill Denbrough –  
Richie, I'm gonna be cleaning the church then**

**Trashmouth –  
i know ;)**

* * *

Richie’s cryptic message didn’t have as exciting a payoff as Bill had been anticipating. His grand gesture of love and affection (or whatever Richie intended it to be) was to help Bill clean the church. It did save Bill some time, he supposed, but he’d kind of been expecting a party or a present or something else that warranted the description of ‘awesome’. Helping Bill mop floors was not Bill’s idea of that.

He and Richie carted the cleaning tools out of the supplies closet and began to work under the watchful eye of the pastor. He sat in one of the pews, talking idly to them while they worked, and didn’t stop talking even when Richie and Bill neglected to reply. He managed to maintain this one-sided conversation until seven pm, at which point he gave Bill a key to lock up with and left.

Richie let his broom drop the moment the pastor’s car was no longer able to be heard. It hit the floorboards with a clatter that made Bill jump. He turned on Richie, about to tell Richie to be more careful, but Richie yanked him away from his own broom before he could. It went tumbling out of his hand and struck a pew on its way toward the floor.

Richie pulled him past the pews and over to a marble altar intricately decorated with Christian symbols. A small red blanket with gold trimming had been laid over the top, and on top of that sat the pastor’s bible. He always put it there at the end of the day.

Bill looked up. He had never been this close to the alter before, nor the statue of Jesus Christ overlooking it. The pastor preferred to clean this part of the church himself and usually did so before Bill arrived to help. It was unsettling how hyper realistic the statue was, with every muscle chiselled into perfection and every line on Jesus’ face an accurate depiction of pain. If Bill had been tall enough to reach the thorny crown on Jesus’ head, he was sure it would have been sharp to the touch.

He turned to Richie, confused. “You’re not about to make me undergo a confession or something, are you?”

Richie rolled his eyes and reached for the lapels of Bill’s jacket, pulling them apart to gain access to the t-shirt beneath. “You’re so naive, Bill. Why would I want to do that?”

“Uh…” Bill made no effort to resist Richie’s hands as he was divested of his jacket, though he was struggling to catch up with exactly what was happening. “Are you – wait, are you trying to – in a _church_?”

“Yeah, in a church.” Richie grinned and threw his jacket aside, reaching now for his trousers. “It’ll help you get over your fear of disappointing God.”

“Wh- help me _how_?” asked Bill, his voice turning shrill. “How is committing blasphemy supposed to _help_ me?”

“Well,” said Richie thoughtfully. “You won’t be so scared once you’ve done it, right? Besides, God is all about sex. We both read the bible.”

“You read the dirty parts for the sake of cracking religious jokes.”

Richie flapped a hand dismissively. “ _And_ a few other parts for the sake of flirting with you, but close enough.” He popped the button on Bill’s jeans. “Remember that passage about a prostitute wanting genitals as large as a donkey or some shit? I bet God is a voyeur.”

Bill laughed at that and was certain that he was going to hell. “I can’t believe I’m going to let you do this,” he murmured, raising his ass off the alter to enable Richie to tug down his pants. “I’m must be an idiot.”

Fucked on an altar before a statue of Jesus Christ – somehow the prospect wasn’t as repellent as it should have been. In fact, Bill was getting all hot and bothered over it. His arousal was quickly overwhelming his good sense.

“You’ve been holding off for a month,” said Richie. He slipped between Bill’s legs and ground the bulge of his cock against Bill’s clothed ass, eliciting a startled little squeal from Bill. Richie’s mouth twisted into a wicked smile. “I’m sure God’ll appreciate your restraint.”

“Never thought I’d be committing sacrilege like this,” he murmured, but he let Richie guide him into lying down on the edge of the alter anyway, putting his ass on display. Once the underwear was out of the way, he would be completely exposed. Completely vulnerable, and Richie could plunder him for all he was worth.

“You fucking love it,” said Richie, sliding his fingers past the waistband of Bill’s underwear to pull them slowly and sensually down his long legs. “Why wouldn’t God want you to do something you clearly enjoy? He’s all about his children being happy and shit, and clearly the idea of being fucked by me is just a never-ending source of joy for you.”

Bill struggled to find his voice now that he had no barriers to protect him from Richie’s hungry gaze. Richie was looking rather pointedly at his nether region, drinking in the sight of pretty pink cock and the pale slopes of his ass. He started to undo his own trousers, and Bill could see that he was already hard.

“Wish I could say the same for your personality,” he murmured, dropping back on his elbows so Richie could better slot between his legs.

“You’ll just have to settle for my dick,” said Richie with a dramatic little sigh. He pushed his trousers and underwear out of the way to unveil said dick, which bobbed against Bill’s thigh briefly before the leathery head settled at the clef of Bill’s ass. It was a very nice-looking cock, Bill thought. Not that he’d seen many in his time, but it had a significant girth and length and looked like it would be heavy and hot in his hand, and Bill thought it exactly the kind of cock he wanted to experience his first time with. It helped that the person it was attached to was his crush.

“I can live with that,” he murmured, licking his lips in anticipation.

Richie reached into his shirt pocket, drawing out a small tube of lubrication and a condom. It was one of those coloured condoms, the sort you had to get from the store instead of nicking a few from your parents stash or the doctor’s office. He was a little impressed with Richie’s balls. Figuratively and literally.

“If you wanna cry out at any point,” Richie murmured, ripping open the condom with his teeth. “Feel free to call out either my or God’s name. It’s all the same to me.” He rolled the condom onto his cock, right down to the base. Bill reached down to touch it, unable to help himself, and Richie inhaled sharply through clenched teeth. “Fuck, try to keep that to a minimum. I haven’t been touched by anyone in a while. I’m liable to finish fast if you do too much.”

Bill glanced up at him, almost shyly. Richie’s cock was warm beneath his fingers. “What about all those girls chasing after you?”

“Haven’t slept with anyone since I decided I wanted you.” He gently moved Bill’s hand away, giving it a squeeze before releasing it. “Besides, I kinda felt like we had something exclusive while texting. You know, something like, um…” He tore open the bottle of lubrication, spreading one big dollop onto his cock, and another dollop onto his fingers. He slickened his pointer finger up and dropped them between Bill’s legs. “Boyfriends.”

Bill gave a breathless chuckle. “You can talk about fucking me and eating my ass, but calling me boyfriend gets you flustered?”

“Of course it fucking does,” said Richie, his voice almost a growl. He slid one long finger into Bill and watched unblinkingly as Bill squirmed in response. “There’s a lot of feelings involved in that. Sex can be feelingless.”

“You phrased that really badly,” said Bill breathlessly. His thighs quivered as Richie massaged his inner walls, spreading the lubrication as far as it would go. He indulged in anal stimulation often enough to leave him loose and relaxed, but this was the first time he’d ever had fingers that weren’t his own buried deep inside himself. The sensation was different, far more intense. It was enough to make his hands curl into fists and his head fall back, thudding against the marble. 

Richie surprised him by withdrawing his finger a moment later and replacing it with his tongue, flicking the tip over the furl of Bill’s hole. When Bill responded by parting his legs, Richie became bolder, spreading the sensitive bundle of nerves with his fingers and grinding the flat his tongue hard against the ridges. Bill let out the softest, most feeble of little “oh”'s at the sensation it produced. He was grasping for words but failing to find any. All his wit had abandoned him. He bit his lip as Richie delved past his rim to lick inside, applying long, hot swipes of his tongue to the sensitive flesh that left Bill’s legs shaking.

None of the filth he and Richie had exchanged on the subject of rimming could compare to the real thing. Every lick seemed to scrape away a layer of his nerves, leaving them frayed and vulnerable, easy to manipulate. And manipulate them Richie did, using both his fingers and tongue to stimulate Bill until Bill was glassy eyed and grinding himself against Richie’s open mouth. He outright screamed when Richie reached back into him with a finger and stroked his sweet spot, the sound echoing through the church. It was a good thing no one was there to hear them, as that would have undoubtedly given away just what they were doing.

He worked at Bill’s prostate with the pad of his finger, ripping away the last remnants of Bill’s composure. He stroked until completion rocked through Bill’s overwrought body and continued to stroke as Bill shuddered and cried through his climax. Bill emptied himself into Richie’s hand and Richie used his come to further slick up his fingers, and Bill only realised as he looked dazedly down that he now had two fingers inside himself, pistoning in and out of his hole.

He wanted so badly for them to be replaced by Richie’s cock. He wanted the stretch, the fullness, the heat. He’d already come once, but he didn’t care; he wouldn’t stop until Richie was buried deep inside of him, right up to the hilt. That was the only thing that would satisfy him.

“Richie,” he murmured, looking pleadingly up at the man, his hands shaking with the aftermaths of his orgasm as he reached for Richie’s shirt. “ _Please_.”

“Please what, Billy?” asked Richie, his own voice soft and strained. He continued to stretch Bill out, gliding in easily to his knuckles. “You’re gonna… gonna have to be more specific.”

“F-fuck me,” Bill pleaded. “Stop t-teasing. P-please, I-“ He gave a desperate little sob as Richie’s fingers stroked at his over-sensitised prostate. “Please, please, p-please,” he begged.

Richie grinned wolfishly down at him. “Doesn’t take much to make Bill Denbrough a little slut, huh?” He gave Bill’s prostate one last stroke, a good and heavy one that drew forth a series of whimpers that were downright obscene. “Look at you.” Richie slowly withdrew his fingers and the wet sound that produced would have been enough to make anyone blush. “You open up like you were made for this. Never seen an ass so ready for me.”

Bill twisted his shaking fingers around a handful of Richie’s shirt, pulling him closer with all the strength of a wet kitten. His first orgasm had taken a lot out of him. He hadn’t the energy to slide himself onto Richie’s cock like he desperately wanted to. He was completely at Richie’s mercy, and boy was Richie enjoying it, visibly delighting in the way Bill whimpered and squirmed when he let the head of his cock brush the reddened furl of Bill’s entrance.

“You’re so damn pretty, all teary-eyed and red faced.” Richie curled his fingers around the base of his cock, getting it into position. “Makes me wish I’d brought my camera. It’d be all the masturbation material I’d need for a lifetime.” He slid his hands up to Bill’s hips, curling his fingers over the protruding bone, holding on tight as he thrust into Bill. He didn’t pause. He didn’t take it slow. He sheathed himself in one smooth movement, then drew back and did it again, sending Bill’s back skating up the alter, pushing the cloth he was laid upon askew. “So fucking pretty,” Richie breathed. His nails dig pink crescents into Bill’s skin. “So fucking _perfect_.”

Bill couldn’t be sure which name it was that he cried out first, but it was Richie’s name he came to chant – _Richie, Richie, Richie!_ – when Richie set into a suitably rough, ruthless rhythm. Each strike to his prostate was enough to make him writhe. He was like a man possessed beneath Richie, moving all his limbs at once, curling his fingers and toes, arching his back, shouting as loud as his aching throat would permit. He couldn’t think; he could only feel and move, his every action driven by some primeval part of his mind.

This was what heaven must have been like. A beautiful, mindless euphoria that made you forget everything else, forget everything that had ever troubled you. There was nothing else: just him and Richie and the way Richie was making him feel.

“So fucking perfect,” Richie said again, his voice barely managing to breach the haze enveloping Bill’s mind. He leaned down and pressed kisses to Bill’s neck and throat, his teeth scraping along the heated skin.

Bill came again and Richie curled a hand around his cock and milked him for all he was worth, sending ejaculation splattering onto his stomach and chest in thick strings. He finally, mercifully, fell still. Richie continued thrusting into him until he reached his own climax, the sensation of the condom filling out inside him enough to make Bill moan.

He couldn’t go another round; he hadn’t the energy. He was in his refractory period, but the way it felt to have Richie come inside him, condom or not, nearly got him going again.

Sweat dripped off Richie’s hair as Richie slumped forward. He lay a hot cheek against one of Bill’s knees, absentmindedly kissing the skin there. Bill draped an arm over his face and took heaving breaths. For how exhausted he was, one might have thought he’d just finished running a marathon.

“So, Billy,” murmured Richie, drawing his cock out of Bill and pulling off the condom, tying the end. “Your thoughts?”

“Still can’t believe I got fucked by a guy in a church,” said Bill, still struggling to recover his composure. His legs were shaking. “And that I’d do it again.”

“You would, would you?” Richie grinned down at him, and Bill would have laughed had he enough air in his lungs to do so.

* * *

Bill had a long, hot shower the moment he returned home, scrubbing away any hint of his activities with Richie so to not draw his parents’ attention. Not that they paid him much mind, these days, but the smell of sex was quite potent. He applied a peach shampoo to his hair, the kind Richie liked, and used a strawberry scent on the rest of his body. It was a shame Richie wasn’t here now as he was sure the boy would have enjoyed getting a taste of his freshly bathed skin.

He stepped out of the shower, towelled down, and was in the middle of scrubbing his hair dry when his mobile buzzed. He had to sit down on the toilet to check it. His legs were still weak from the earlier exertion.

**Trashmouth –  
you know what**

**Trashmouth –  
i think i should offer to help you clean the church every week**

**Trashmouth –  
think the pastor will let me?**

Bill laughed and pressed in his reply.

**Bill Denbrough –  
Go right ahead.**

**Bill Denbrough –  
I’ll vouch for you.**


End file.
